The gobshite bullies came for me,

When I, at ten years old or so,

Was forced to admit we’d no TV,

The haunted fish-tank being despised

As nothing but a frippery,

So I couldn’t discuss Four Feather Falls,

And I had nowt to say about Sunset Strip.

When they tried to throw me over a wall,

I fought off five or six of them,

With a “bloody” this and a “bloody” that,

I elbowed here and elbowed there,

But though it was a Catholic school,

Jesus Christ wasn’t on my side,

They snitched on me to the headmaster,

“He’s been swearing Sir”, they said,

That Sir, he was a psychopath,

Ex army, was that bastard master,

Opening wide his bloody cupboard,

Like it was his pride and joy,

Ten feet tall, it bloody was,

Well-stocked with canes of different lengths,

And thicknesses one, half-inch thick,

“Have you been swearing lad?” he said,

“Yes Sir, no Sir, three bags full Sir”,

“You know that’s mocking Jesus’ blood”,

“For sinners like you, poor Jesus bled”,

“Hold out your hands now, both palms up”,

Thwack, down it came, that half inch cane,

Bamboo it was, five times each hand,

And did it hurt? It bloody-well did,

And did I cry? No, I bloody-well didn’t,

And yes, I’ve bloody-well learned my lesson,

Don’t let the bloody bastards grind you down.

Nil carborundum sanguine desperandum.

…or words to that effect!

Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh 3rd September 2024